


Home is (wherever you are)

by unspecified (modernscience)



Series: Meandering through (until I find you) [1]
Category: Fashion Model RPF, Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Kaylor - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/F, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:16:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernscience/pseuds/unspecified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karlie can't wait to get back to New York</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is (wherever you are)

You would think, having spent the majority of your time in an airplane, that you’re used to it by now. But the plane skidded and made an unusually terrifying screech just before take off and you’re gripping on the armrest for dear life; your whole body screams _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ in quick successions, it’s a wonder how you managed to keep a calm (well, somewhat) demeanor and not say a single word.

 

It does take off successfully and as it leans to the side, your whole weight shifts by force, the first thing that comes through your mind is the sheer stupidity of it all. You try to shift your focus to your new apartment instead - when you left for Milan she said she would paint the entire thing in bright yellow and you laughed at her before leaning in and kissing her, thinking it was a joke. Now the thought comes back to you and you’re horrified of the possibility of it _not_ being one.

 

_Please tell me you haven’t painted the walls yellow._

 

_**What?** _

 

_Take a photo._

 

_**OH!** _

_**You just have to wait and see.** _

 

_Tay…_

 

_**Karls…** _

 

_Take a photo, please?_

 

Your eyes widen at the sight of the photo and you thank god for your little private cocoon of a seat.

 

_EXCUSE ME_

 

_**You like it.** _

 

 

Well, there’s no denying that.

 

* * *

 

It's 1.47 pm when you finally got out of the airport and into an Uber, tiredness hitting your body like never before. You want to blame it on the surprisingly bumpy flight, though you suspect it has more to do with having to work non-stop for the past three days. There’s no getting used to it no matter how many times you’ve done this, and getting older hasn’t really helped either.

 

She is hounding you with texts and photos of the cats (Olivia on the dining table, Meredith looking uninterested as always as she dangled a piece of dried leaf in front of her),keeping you awake for most of the ride. The driver largely leaves you to it, occasionally asking whether you would like him to turn up the heater (“ _It’s particularly chilly today, I tell ya it’s all those global warming thing going on_ ”) or if someone had asked you to be a model (“ _They should, you know. What do you do?_ ” “ _I’m a student in NYU_.” “ _Oh, good for you. You never thought about being a model? I bet you’d be very popular._ ” “ _Maybe one day._ ”) You secretly feel grateful that he doesn’t recognize you. All you want is to get home.

 

* * *

 

 

_**WHERE ARE YOU I AM WAITING** _

 

_Patience is a virtue._

 

_**Ha ha.** _

_**Seriously where are you** _

 

_Downstairs._

 

 

* * *

 

She runs to you the second you swing the door open and jumps into your arms like you haven’t seen each other for years. You were almost knocked over but managed to stay upright and threw your duffel bag on the floor just in time to catch her.

 

She smells like vanilla and lavender and god does it feel good, _so good_ , to have her in your arms again.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

“Do you miss me?”

 

“Oh thank _god_ you haven’t painted the walls yellow.”

 

She slaps your arm. “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

You want to tell her that you miss her all the time, even when she’s right next to you. You miss the feel of her skin against yours, the sound of her laughter, the stupid jokes she makes to coax a smile out of you. You miss the sight of her in the kitchen, humming on some random notes while she’s baking. You miss how she could always comfort you, how she would have the right words to comfort you or calm you down.

 

But she knows. Of course she knows.

So you kiss her instead.


End file.
